


Forever Parody: Look Before You Leap (S01E02)

by stewbeef44



Series: Forever Parodies [2]
Category: Forever (TV 2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28929450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stewbeef44/pseuds/stewbeef44
Summary: A parody of the second episode of Forever.
Series: Forever Parodies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/315293
Comments: 7
Kudos: 1





	1. Gravity Is A Ruthless Killing Machine

**A/N: Here it is, the beginning of the parody for the second episode of Forever. Enjoy!**

* * *

_You can learn a lot from a body: how a life was lived, what was their pain, suffering, life experiences, even if they were loved. But what a body can't tell you is why. And for those left behind, that seems to be the only question that really matters._

* * *

Mike, Jo, Henry, and Lucas all were convened around a dead body in the morgue. It wasn't the place Mike or Jo wanted to spend the evening. It was worse for Mike, who disliked the odd medical examiner and his assistant. Still, Henry treated Jo well, and Jo had gotten close to him over the past week. Lucas was just... weird.

He ignored Lucas, who had a lopsided gin as he poked the brain of the deceased with his thumb. "Well, Doc, cause of death on this guy seems a bit obvious."

"I couldn't agree more. The manner of death was accidental."

"Got it," Lucas immediately went on note-taking mode.

"What?" Mike was taken aback. "The guy has an axe sticking out of his head, it's a homicide."

"Yeah, witnesses saw the victim and his neighbor arguing twenty minutes before his death," agreed Jo.

Lucas motioned to Henry. "Go ahead."

Henry started his analysis. "Alright, from his garb, we see he was an American football fan. I assume there was a game last night from all the commotion on my street. And from what I can gather, it was a rather raucous affair?"

"Yeah, it was. It was the Patriots versus the Broncos! Don't you watch television?"

"Ha! I'd rather watch two obese men wrestle each other while someone kicks a piece of sow hide around a field with fake grass at the same time as women parade around the sides and do silly dances in a show of exploitation, misogyny, fat-shaming, and tears."

"That's American football, Henry," replied Jo.

"Oh, well, I don't like sports in general anyway. Back to our victim. He was drunk, and probably thought the power outage we had last night was his satellite dish. So, our intoxicated friend here decides to act. From the stains on his knees, we know he was up on the roof. He carried the axe between his teeth, judging from the splinters on the enamel. The wear on his shoes suggests that he slipped and fell, a slight fracture of the L5 vertebrae would likely be due to falling on his back, and then gravity took care of the axe in the head. Not the most elegant way to go, but accidental nonetheless."

"Well, if it's the official cause of death, who am I to argue? I'm going to call it an early night, and see the kids before I go to bed." Mike and Jo turned and started to walk out.

"Detectives, this other one is quite suspicious."

"No, that one is a clear suicide. Witnesses saw her climb onto the ledge of the 59th Street Bridge and jump," Jo said.

"Hmm..."

"What?"

"You might want to take a look at this. There are paint chips under her fingernails. The paint is lead-based, which hasn't been used on that bridge since 1976. She dug deep enough to go through at least a dozen coats."

"Maybe she clawed her way to the edge."

"Or perhaps she was clinging for her life. Scuff marks suggest that she was struggling. Then there's the angle of fractures, starting with her big toe along with what remains of her tibia, suggests that she was facing the bridge at the moment of impact. I've never examined a jumper that goes backwards; it simply doesn't happen. This woman was murdered."

Lucas looked up from his notes. "Yeah, but maybe it was suicide _and_ murder." The three looked at him quizzically. "Here's what happened."

* * *

_She crawled out from the burning testing facility, barely alive. She hobbled along to the 59th Street Bridge. Gasping for breath from having escaped all those horrid, ruthless experiments they performed on her at the lab, she turned around to find her clone advancing upon her... with a knife._

_The girl had no choice. She beat her clone's head against the sidewalk, blood and brains splashing everywhere. She murdered her own clone._

_"WHAT HAVE I DONE?! YOU ANIMALS! YOU FILTHY ANIMALS!" She let out a shriek into the night sky, and did a sick backflip off the bridge to her death._

* * *

Henry, Jo, and Mike just stared at Lucas, mouths agape. "So, you see, she murdered her clone, and in doing so, committed suicide, then committed suicide again by backflipping off the bridge!" Lucas said, an accomplished grin on his face.

"That has got to be the stupidest analysis I have ever heard," said Jo. "Henry, I'll run the murder possibility by the Lieutenant. Good work."

"Wait, what?" Mike fumed, horrified that a person had been murdered and ruined his dinner plans. "She could've spun around backwards, she could have slipped and fallen... Jo, just because he says it was murder doesn't make it true."

"Yeah, but he hasn't been wrong yet," Jo replied. She walked out the door.

"Sorry to have ruined your evening, Detective," Henry said sarcastically.


	2. Fun Facts About Face Mites

Lieutenant Reece called Jo into her office as she walked by. "Detective, walk me through this again. How is the bridge jumper a homicide? I thought we had witnesses who saw her climb over the ledge."

"We do."

"They saw her fall into the water and a cab driver said she was distressed."

"I believe the word he used was 'hysterical.'"

"You may be new to this squad, but if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck... what am I missing here, Detective?"

"Maybe something other than anecdotes? Something the witnesses were missing?"

"Oh, so you're trying to actually _think_ about the case? You aren't satisfied with anecdotes and hearsay?" The lieutenant sighed. "That's not what we do at the NYPD. We _close_ cases, not necessarily _solve_ them."

"That's not what I thought we were doing."

"Jo, sit on my lap."

"...What?"

"It helps emphasize the irony of what I'm about to tell you."

"Sure, anything for irony... gods, it's as if we're in a parody of ourselves or something." Jo sat on the lieutenant's lap.

"Something like that. Jo, when you solve a case, you know what that creates? More work, that's what. That's the last thing we need at _our_ workplace. So, we find the hastiest conclusion we can draw by looking at a situation, and we act on that. If somebody dies, we ignore the ME with all that silly experience and medical degrees, and form a conclusion straight from the gut, whether it gives families the closure of what really happened or not. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, but I don't agree –"

"Shh. Shhhh. Don't think, conclude. Doesn't matter if it's right or not. As long as it's a hasty conclusion, it's all good. Mike gets that; it's about time you did too. As far as the jumper's concerned, there are a bunch of reasons she could have fallen backwards in the water. We don't know them, we're just saying that so we have less work. We have a long list of homicide cases that we can't make up a reason for not investigating them. If your ME is as good as you say he is, I'm sure we could find a less work-intensive use for his talents."

* * *

One of Henry Morgan's greatest talents was that he was an expert on face mites. "Lucas, did you know that the average living person has twenty-five face mites on their eyelashes? They feed on our oil and have tiny, slug-like bodies."

"Um..."

"There are also face mites that crawl around on our eyes, usually thirty-one at any given time for the average person."

"Hey, Henry...?"

"Their reproductive organs are simply amazing. If you look under a magnifying glass at a human eye, you can see that the face mites rub their willies all over it and –"

"Okay, Henry, just stop right there. That is new information and now something that I can't un-know. The cops called, and they're encouraging us to rule the jumper a suicide."

Henry sighed in exasperation. "It's not a suicide. If they wish us to categorize it as such, they should either get a medical degree or another ME."

"Okay. Also, the parents of the jumper, Vicky Holquist, are here to identify the body."

"Just show them the pictures."

"They want to talk to you."

"Lucas, you know this. I never speak with the families; it's much too emotional."

"But they refuse to leave. What do you want me to do?"

"Call Detective Martinez! Have them... oh, dear gods..." The parents had just walked in the room, and had seen the body.

* * *

"She's really gone..." The mother of Vicky Holquist started sobbing into her husband's arms.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, it's why we discourage families from seeing the bodies."

"What happened?" the father asked.

"I'm sorry, but it appears she fell from the bridge to her death."

"She was a grad student getting her MA. She was leaving this week to study in Paris. Is there any evidence that something else could have happened?"

"I strongly suggest that you bring this matter up with the police."

"I'm asking you," the father said shortly. "Did she jump?"

"I can understand the pain that you must be going through."

"Do you have a child?"

Henry thought for a moment. "I do."

"Is the child gone?"

Henry started to feel emotional. "No, he's still with me."

"You have no idea what pain we're going through." The parents of the victim walked out.

* * *

**Flashback: An orphanage, 1945**

Abigail and Henry stood by the crib that held the baby they had found in the ruins of Auschwitz. "His name is Abraham. They haven't been able to locate any of his family." Abigail looked at the baby wistfully.

"What'll happen to him?"

"I suppose he'll be still in an orphanage. Unless someone were to fall in love and adopt him," she said, turning to Henry and smiling.

"If only it were that simple..."

"What could be more simple than making an impulsive commitment for the rest of your life?"

"Hmmm... eating a Welsh rarebit?"

"What's that? Do you boil it?"

"No..."

"Then I'm not eating it."

Henry just stared at her disbelievingly until Abigail erupted with laughter. "I know perfectly well that British food isn't all boiled! _I'm_ British!"

"Does anybody in this country know the difference between Welsh cuisine and British cuisine?"

"Well, maybe people from Wales and food geeks. And it's rhetorical _,_ Henry. After all, I don't think _our_ baby Abraham is going to let you go." The baby smiled up at him.

"I do think you're on to something, Abigail. Let's adopt him."


	3. Now That's What I Call Dedication

Abe was making spinach and mushroom lasagna as Henry walked in. He let Henry taste the sauce; he wanted to get it just right. After all, it was Abigail's recipe. "Well?" he said as Henry took a taste.

"Mmm, very nice."

Abe tried the sauce himself. "No, it's way too much garlic. I swear you could kill Dracula with this."

"Yes, indeed."

Abe could tell something was wrong. Henry usually would have come up with a remark about how much of a tired cliché vampires were by now. Abe decided to test him. "I just called a bunch of lingerie models, and we're all going to have sex in your room."

"Alright then," Henry said, not looking up.

"I've also ordered Hawaiian pizza, and I'm going to eat it with a fork."

"That's nice."

"Henry, what's the matter?"

"I met the parents of a homicide victim today."

Abe was pleasantly surprised. "Oh, really? Well, that's a positive step."

"No, it's a terrible idea. Now I can't stop thinking about the case. The parents are never going to learn what really happened to their daughter. Nothing can make up for the loss of a child. That feeling in their gut that something doesn't make sense will haunt them forever."

"Then do something about it."

"I have. I've told the police. That's my job."

Abe shook his head in disbelief. "I could have called the police about it. Do you want me to be a medical examiner?"

"No, Abe, absolutely not!"

"Good, because it'd give me the creeps. Dad, who says you can't be the detective? You're the expert on dead people!"

"Abe, I've carefully chosen this life so I don't have to get involved in these messy emotional entanglements."

"You know, for some of us, these 'messy emotional entanglements' are the whole point of life. Which reminds me, I need you to make yourself scarce. I have a date coming over. I met her online on eHarmony."

"... Did you just shamelessly plug a product in a television show? This never would have happened when I was your age!" Henry crossed his arms.

"No, but they would have if they had invented television by then. That reminds me, I think that when we finally buy a television, it should be a Samsung."

"Oh dear gods." Henry facepalmed.

Abe laughed, then sighed. "I just hope she looks like her picture."

"Who's this?" Henry clicked on the thumbnail next to the My Account button. Abe's profile came up, but the picture was of a young man. It was Henry's turn to laugh.

"It's no big deal! Everybody lies about their pictures online," Abe said defensively.

"It's not you!"

"Of course it's me! Just not today. Not everybody can remain thirty-five forever."

Henry chuckled. "Alright, Dorian Gray. I'll leave you to your date."

* * *

Henry went on his bicycle towards the bridge that Vicky fell to her death from. He couldn't let go of the case, so he decided to see if he could find more evidence.

A car passed. "Do you know what a bike lane even is, buddy?" the driver shouted as the car he was in sped past. Henry ignored this, and went to where he figured Vicky fell.

_When you fall off a bridge, your body accelerates to an impact of roughly ten miles per story. So from where she was, it was roughly 70 miles per hour. The water is like concrete. When you land, the bones in your hips shatter and are driven into your internal organs. If you should survive, you can't stop yourself from sinking. All things considered, it's one of the worst ways to die; certainly in the top twenty. And now if you'll excuse me, I have a bridge to possibly fall off of._

Henry climbed over the railing to the ledge of the bridge. He found something stuck in the supports. He pulled it out, only to slip and almost fall from the ledge. Henry was able to pull himself up, only to be hit by a truck when he got on his bike. Next thing he knew, he was in the water again.

* * *

There were some police near the telephone booth as he got out of the water, namely Jo Martinez and Mike Hanson. Henry quickly hid in some bushes and waited for them to go. He could hear what they were saying.

"Call him again!" Mike giggled.

Jo dialed the number for Abe's Antiques. Henry could hear Abe's voice answering on the other line. "Hello? This better not be another prankster."

Mike put on a deep voice. "No, it isn't. I have a priceless antique from the 16th century: the first toilet invented."

"Oh, wow. That would be fairly valuable. Do you know who first used it?"

Jo and Mike took a deep breath. "I.P. Freely!" they said in unison, then laughed.

"Kids these days..." Abe muttered. He then hung up. Henry walked out in plain view.

"Pranking my dad, are you?" Henry asked, a proud smile on his face. "I do it all the time."

Jo stared at him. "Henry... why are you naked?"

Mike answered for Henry. "He's been skinnydipping again. Henry, I won't arrest you this time, just don't do it again. Did you get a cellphone yet?"

"No. I do need to call Abe, can I borrow yours? It is getting rather chilly."

"Fine." Mike handed his phone to Henry, who dialed Abe.

Abe answered. "Okay, prankmaster. It may seem like I'm blocking your number, but that's because –"

"It's me. I don't know what you mean about any pranking, but I need you to pick me up. I do hope your date turned out well."

"Meh, I'll tell you in the car. See you later."

* * *

Abe pulled up to where a giggling Jo and Mike and a naked and rather embarrassed Henry was. "So, how did you convince two police officers not to arrest you for this 'skinnydipping' incident?"

"I told them my predicament, and Mike let me use his phone."

"Henry, there's more to it than that, and you know it. Jo likes you, and you shouldn't waste that. It's rare, at least from a mortal perspective, for someone to truly care about you."

"I know what you're getting at, Abe. If it develops into anything else, you'll be the first to know about it, and she'll be the first one to... to learn of my condition."

"Good. I don't want to be the one to fish you out of the water every single time you kick the bucket."

Henry decided to change the subject. "So, how was your date?"

"Terrible. She didn't like the lasagna, so I kicked her out. So how did you die this time?"

"I got hit by a truck. But now I know that I was right. There was another person up on that bridge, and now I can prove it," he said as he held up the metal ring he found on the ledge.


	4. The Creepiest Greeting Card Ever

As Henry walked in, Lucas motioned to him. "Hey! You were right, of course. The paint chips under her nails match the kind used on the bridge."

Henry nodded and started towards his office. "But wait! There's more." Henry went over to the corpse of Vicky Holquist. "I found this wedged under the nail bed."

"Skin particles! Do they match the deceased?" Henry asked excitedly.

"Nope. Maybe it was someone she scratched before dying?"

"Perhaps. Good work, Lucas." He started again towards his office.

* * *

**Lucas' flashback: A house outside of Redding, California, late 1990s**

Lucas sat in bed, listening to his mom and dad argue yet again.

"Lucas? What's he got to do with this? He can't do anything right! Can't get good grades, can't socialize..." his dad rambled.

"He has Aspergers! That means he doesn't really want to socialize, but nothing's wrong with him!"

"Aspergers, that's bull! You have to give a name for everything these days!"

Lucas sat there and cried. They were both wrong. He had Aspergers, no matter what people wanted to call it. He wanted to be with other kids, but it was just difficult sometimes. Years later, he would meet a great group of friends in the Criminology department at his college, but his seven-year-old self didn't know that. If his parents would stop arguing all the damn time and focus their energy on having some faith in him, it would mean the world to him. Unfortunately, that would never happen.

* * *

"Hey, Henry... thanks for telling me that I did a good job. It meant a lot."

"You're welcome."

"Especially since, well... happy birthday!" Jo, Mike, and Lieutenant Reece stepped out from their respective hiding places in the morgue. "Someone tell me why we're doing this?" Reece asked tiredly.

"Well, it _is_ his birthday, and when Lucas mentioned it, I thought we should celebrate." said Jo.

"It's not my birthday."

"Oh, wow... someone left a gift on your desk, and..." Lucas began, then dodged the birthday cake Hanson had threw at him.

Henry started to worry. He walked into his office, and noticed that there was a white box on his desk. Undoing the gold ribbon, he opened it. It only contained a piece of paper.

**That looked painful. My condolences for your death.**

**\- Your fan**

* * *

**Flashback from Episode 1:**

_'I'm saying that we're the same, you and I. We share the same curse, the same pain, same affliction.'_

_'How is this possible?'_

_'I'm afraid I'm as lost as you are.'_

* * *

Jo walked in on Henry staring at the paper. "Hey. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

He looked up, and put on a smile. "I can get a bit lost in my imagination."

"So I noticed. Sorry about the false alarm on the birthday party. Did you say you had some new information on the jumper?"

"Yes, someone else was up on that bridge before she died. There were two sets of footprints in the soot on the ledge."

"Wait, how do you know this?"

"Because I was in the neighborhood passing by on my bicycle, and I looked."

Jo was taken aback. "You... climbed onto the ledge of the bridge?"

"I've never been bothered by heights."

"And what about death?"

"A rather more complicated relationship."

"Well, if you say so, Mr. Harkness..."

Henry looked hurt. "Well, now that's just..."

"Sorry, I didn't know you were a Torchwood fan."

"I'm Welsh, Jo. Of course I like Torchwood. Not everyone can be reduced to stereotypes, but I can. If you'll excuse me." Henry got up, and left for the antiques shop.

* * *

"You sure this was from the caller?" Abe asked, looking closely at the note.

"Well, who else would it be from? He was following me, Abe. He was up on the bridge."

"So he saw you –"

"Yes, he saw me die. He saw me disappear. He's just toying with me now. He knows everything about me and I know nothing about him."

"That's not entirely true. You know he's creepy, immortal..."

"Well, he _claims_ to have the same affliction as me, but forgive me for being a bit skeptical."

"Henry, just hold it with the worrying; I think I found something. This is known as laid paper. You see the watermarks inside the design? This is very old."

Henry stopped his pacing. "Do you think you can figure out where it came from?"

"I'll do my best. I'm fairly dialed in to the antique paper game."

* * *

There was a knock on the door. It was Jo. "Hi. Sorry to interrupt."

"Come in, Detective."

"I wanted to let you know, she checked into her flight."

"Who?"

"Suzie Costello."

Abe played along. " _They keep killing her..._ "

"Did you really come in here to play a practical joke? I thought you were above that," Henry huffed.

"Oh, you completely got me wrong there, Henry. I mean Vicky Holquist. I did some digging and it turns out she was leaving for Paris, and she checked in. That's kind of odd behavior for someone who's about to kill herself, wouldn't you say?"

"I'd say there are quite a few odd things about this case."

"This is the school's address. Are you coming?"

Henry put on his coat, and headed out with Jo.

* * *

"Hello, this is Cindy with the Hallmark greeting card company."

"Hello, Cindy..." a low, gravelly voice answered. It was the same mysterious caller that had been bothering Henry.

"Um, yes, this is Cindy speaking, how may I help you today?"

"Cindy, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to talk to someone like you..."

"Okay, it's going to sound like I'm hanging up, but –"

"No, seriously, I've been on hold for about fifteen minutes. I have a pitch for a greeting card."

"Okay, you've got one chance."

"'That looked painful. My condolences for your death.' That's what the card will say."

Cindy shouted over to the cubicle that Richard, the new intern, occupied. "Hey, Rick! Do we have a 'condolences for dying' card?"

"No..."

"Well, get on it! Good job, sir, you've just created a new greeting card."

"It's been my pleasure." The caller hung up.


	5. Keep Sharpening Your Knives, Caligula

**A/N: Contains part of the lyrics to Daydreamin' by Austin Roberts. I don't own the lyrics, I just wanted to put them in because it fit. It turns out that Boss (Bruce) Springsteen hasn't sued me yet for parodying his singing style in the first Forever parody, so hopefully Austin Roberts won't sue me either.**

* * *

Jo and Henry were led by a student trough the dim and dusty dormitory halls. "You said that Vicky was the hall residence coordinator before you took over?" Jo asked.

"Yes. She was awesome: super positive, let us do whatever we wanted, really. If you were lonely, broke up with a guy, you'd go to Vicky. If you hit a mime with a car, you'd go to Vicky. If you ran over a squirrel while riding a bicycle in the nude, you'd go to Vicky."

"Is there anything she wouldn't let you do?" Jo asked.

"Hey, it's college. Anything goes. Even if I did punch a child in the face a while ago, I'm just experimenting with my newfound freedom."

Henry and Jo exchanged exasperated glances. The student opened the door. "Here's her room."

"Great. Thank you."

* * *

Henry and Jo stepped into the room to find the parents of Vicky Holquist inside. Jo flashed her badge. "Sorry to interrupt, Mr. and Mrs. Holquist. I'm Detective Martinez, this is –"

"We've met," the father said. "Does this mean you've opened up the case? You found something?"

"Well, it's actually still an unexplained death right now, we're just trying to learn a little bit more about Vicky."

"Okay, how can we help you?"

"Is there anything you can tell us about her, any boyfriends?"

"She didn't have a boyfriend when it happened. She broke up with a guy about six months ago, but I think he transferred to Stanford."

Henry had walked over to a picture of Vicky going rock climbing. "Quite the outdoor enthusiast."

"Yeah, always was."

"Do you know who took this picture?"

"No."

"Any other hobbies, interests, friends...?" Jo asked.

"We haven't spoken to her as much recently," said Mrs. Holquist. "She was working night and day on this paper. They were translating an ancient manuscript they found in Egypt. It's a scroll, I guess; it has layers written on top of each other..."

"A codex?" Henry guessed.

"Yeah, that's it."

Henry's face lit up. "One of the Oxyrynchus papyri? Ah, yes. I've heard of it."

"How?" Mr. Holquist said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Guam," Henry deadpanned.

There was an uncomfortably awkward silence. Jo broke it. "You said _they_ had been working on it?"

"A professor and a few grad students, I think." Mrs. Holquist looked at the picture longingly. "Look how perfect she was..."

"She was," said Henry. "Don't worry, we'll find out who did this."

* * *

"Did you really just tell the mother of a victim that you would solve the case?" Jo asked as she and Henry walked out of the dormitory building.

"Nice to know you're finally referring to her as the victim."

"Henry, I am not supposed to be looking into this! What happens when they call my boss and tell her we promised to find out who did this?"

"Well, I suppose we'd better solve the case."

Jo stopped walking. "Okay, stop. Stop. No matter how hard we try, we may never actually figure out what happened. Some of these cases go unsolved for years."

"Well, that's not exactly something I want to have happen, do you?"

"No, but..."

"Well then, we have a case to solve."

* * *

Henry and Jo had asked probably half the university about Vicky. After a while, they saw someone pacing around in circles the floor, drinking from a flask, and sharpening a hunting knife with an exceptionally stale piece of Hawaiian pizza. "Shar-pen... sharpening my knives, my teeth, like daggers they shine and sharpen! He knows who did this, the knife does! But it won't tell anyone..." The man slowly tuned to face Henry and Jo, and grinned a toothy smile. "Will you make Knifey tell us who did this to Vicky? Maybe you are the sprout of Brussels, roasted with peas... and carrots! And some butter and lemon as well!" He threw his head back, laughed maniacally, and motioned to Henry. "My name is Caligula, by the way. But you may call me Maribelle... _if_ you want your fingers slit."

"Nice to meet you, Caligula!" Henry shook his tomato-stained hand with a pleasant smile on his face. At least it looked like tomato.

Caligula pulled his hand back and hissed, clawing the air. "What does the doctor and my dear, sweet Drusilla need?"

Jo ignored this. "We were also wondering what happened to Vicky," Jo said. "Did you know her professor?"

"Ah yesss..." Caligula gave the air a long sniff. "She kept a desk in the codex room with Browning."

"Is that a professor?"

"Yes. He is my... master. Many people think Caligula has no master. But Professor Browning is." He paused. "Do you think Caligula is... crazy?"

"Yes," Henry said matter-of-factly. Jo facepalmed.

"Goooood. Then enjoy..." Caligula opened the door to Professor Browning's office.

"Academia is weird," Jo whispered to Henry as they walked in.

"I quite agree," he whispered back.

* * *

As Henry and Jo walked into the professor's office, a miffed-looking ostrich walked out. Professor Browning sat handcuffed to his chair. A song was playing on his speaker.

_Daydreamin head's in the sand,_

_Daydreamin gee but it's grand._

_I'm in love with an ostrich,_

_All the neighbors complaining you see,_

_But she loves me,_

_Can't help it if they don't understand it._

_It's fun to be in love with an ostrich,_

_And if you haven't tried it_

_Don't deny it my friend._

_'Cause it's so much fun_

_To go out in the sun_

_Forget the rest of the world,_

_With your head in the sand..._

Jo pulled out her gun and shot the stereo player five times, then another time just to make sure she wouldn't hear the rest of the song. She then just stared at nothing in particular for a while, a traumatized look on her face.

"I loved that ostrich," the professor said drunkenly.

"We just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about Vicky Holquist," Henry said.

"Right. Anything I can do. She was one of my... brightest students," the professor said, grinning mischievously.

"Is this the scroll she was working on?"

"It is, the codex. The bottom is in Latin. At first, we thought it was simply a letter about crops. ' _Post diebus messis, aere perennius..._ ' 'Beyond the days of the harvest, more lasting than bronze...'"

"'Is love.' _Est amo_ means 'is love'. It's a love letter," Henry interrupted.

"It is, you're right. Where did you study?"

"Guam."

"We were told that Vicky spent most of her time here with you," Jo said.

"Well, I think the codex was the real draw. We were all set to publish."

" _The Last Of The Latin Lovers_."

"Vicky's title. I... went with it," Browning said. He smiled, adding, "I went with a lot of things Vicky said."

"Did Vicky keep an office in here?" Jo asked.

"Over in the back," the professor replied, pointing with the pen he had chewed on. Jo walked over to investigate.

"Do you smoke, Professor?" asked Henry.

"I don't, why?"

"I was hoping to bum one. The way you were holding that pen."

"Ah. Well, old habits die hard. On occasion, I relent to my demons."

"I know what you mean."

Jo walked back to where the professor was. "How close were you with Vicky?"

"Not very. I mean, colleagues, you know. Personally, we didn't socialize or anything. I have some trouble connecting with this generation... you see, I was at the opera when I heard the news, with my wife."

"You may want to invest in some pants, Professor," Henry said as he and Jo walked out.

"But I like the breeze..." Professor Browning quipped once they were out of earshot.

* * *

"They were having an affair," Henry said confidently as they left campus.

"With the ostrich?"

"Yes, and also Vicky."

"We don't know that..."

"Of course we do. He said he had an occasional smoke, and there were cigarette stains on Vicky's sheets."

"She could have been smoking."

"I saw her teeth and lungs. Not a smoker. Also, he was the one who took the picture in her room."

"How do you know?"

"She was wearing a scarf in the photo. A Chateausse fiber, the same as on his desk. As a scarf man, I can tell you that it was very tasteful. You don't find any of this suspicious?"

"I never said that. He also never looked at Vicky's desk, and he gave an alibi without provocation, but it's all circumstantial." Jo stopped, and looked at Henry. "I'm _not_ Mike or the Lieutenant. I need proof."

"Forensically, we need something that can tie him to the victim."

"Exactly."

"Like, say... DNA," Henry said, holding out the pen the professor had been chewing.

"Hotshot," Jo muttered, smiling in spite of herself.


	6. The Cassowary Whisperer

Henry and Jo had confirmed that the DNA from the pen matched that of the skin particles. This gave them reason to check with the professor's wife that they were at the opera at the time of Vicky's death.

As they drove along, Jo read the file. "Okay, the wife's name is Brauk Browning, formerly Brauk Squawk-Squawk... no," Jo facepalmed. "Please tell me this isn't true."

"Are you asking me if Professor Browning's wife is an ostrich?"

"Please tell me she... it... whatever, isn't an ostrich."

"No, of course not. She's a cassowary."

"What's a cassowary?"

"It's another large bird, this one indigenous to Australia. A more colorful ostrich... but deadly."

"Great. He has a fetish for large birds, and the one he's married to is a walking behemoth of death. Just perfect. So how do we interrogate a cassowary?"

"Leave it to me. I was a cassowary farmer in a past life."

Jo looked at him strangely. "I'm afraid to ask," she said nervously.

"That's probably for the best," Henry replied, looking away.

* * *

Henry knocked on the door while Jo hid behind him. Mrs. Browning opened the door with her beak and glared at Jo and Henry. It walked back into the house, and clumsily poured tea for them with her talons.

"Thank you. We're just doing a follow-up on a sucide that happened the other night."

The cassowary squawked a bit angrily, advancing on Henry and Jo with its talons extended. Henry changed the subject quickly.

"You and your husband were at the opera? Madam Butterfly, if I remember correctly?"

"Brauk", the cassowary squawked.

"And you were together the entire evening?"

"Brauk." Mrs. Browning nodded.

"It must have been difficult to sit next to your husband while watching an opera about betrayal."

Mrs. Browning stared him down. "Oh, I don't mean to embarrass you, truly," Henry continued. "I know what it's like to care about someone deeply, then to want to protect them at all costs, but there's no need to lie for him."

"Brawkity-brawk squawk..."

" _You_ were at the opera. There are two playbills from the opera in the house, one torn up using something in the shape of a talon, the other without a mark. You waited for him outside, but he never showed up. You knew about the affair, and you were trying to make things work. These pictures all have dust on them, except for this one. It was placed there recently; you were trying to remind him of a time when he was young and in love. And I can understand why you would try and cover for him, you don't want to bring any embarrassment to your family. This home has been passed down for generations." Mrs. Browning tipped her head to the side curiously. "Species... I mean, family resemblance."

Jo finally worked up the courage to speak. "Mrs. Browning, if you are lying, you could be arrested for obstruction of justice. I'm going to ask you one more time: was your husband with you at the opera?"

The cassowary shook her head. "Braw-squawk."

* * *

Professor Browning, Jo, and Henry sat in the interrogation room. The professor broke the awkward silence. "I just wanted to state, for the record: I did not have sexual relations with that emu."

Jo facepalmed. "We're not arresting you for that, but if you mention any sort of large bird again, I don't know what I'll do. But it will be bad."

"We know about the affair," said Henry. "Your wife found out. Vicky was leaving to study in Paris. Your life was unraveling, so you went up on that bridge to end things. And then Vicky went up to stop you, and she slipped. It wasn't your fault, it was an accidental death."

"No, I loved her. More than anyone I've ever loved. I didn't think I had the strength to do it, but I did."

"Strength to do what?"

"To break it off with her... look, she was 22. She had her whole life ahead of her. It's funny how time catches up to us. A 22 year-old woman with a 65 year-old man? No way that would work."

Jo left the room, wincing. Henry followed her out.

* * *

"He's telling the truth."

"Are you saying you don't think he did it?"

"I'm not sure. I know he believes what he's saying to be true. He thinks she killed himself for him. Look at his wrists. They're chafed from the cuffs. He has a skin condition, acrodermititis."

Professor Browning's lawyer walked in the interrogation room. Henry rushed in as well, followed by Jo. "I'm sorry, if I could ask one small question: Professor, would you mind removing your shirt?"

"Is he serious? We're done here."

"Henry, what are you going on about?"

"The marks on his wrists suggest he has a skin condition. So if she scratched him on the bridge, there would be evidence of it."

"And you needed to see his bare chest to see that?"

"No... hadn't really thought of that."

Jo rolled her eyes. "I thought the DNA under her fingernails matched his."

"It does. I suspect it was during some passionate endeavor, perhaps during sex. He loved her, he would never have killed her."

"Henry, we still have a lot to go on here."

"I guess we need to do some further investigation then."


	7. Mike Hanson's Magical Lower Intestine

Henry and Abe walked to the antiques shop. Abe had his driver's license revoked that day because he had killed a total of 2,903 mimes in the past two weeks with his car, and he was still rather upset about having to take the subway. Henry was upset as well, but for a different reason.

"Why did you let me get involved in this case?" Henry asked frantically. "An innocent man now sits in prison, and I helped put him there."

"You don't know he's innocent. What about the affair? What about the false alibi?"

"But he loved her... why would he kill her?"

Abe pondered this for a moment. "I think I have an idea. Here's what happened."

* * *

_Vicky had said her farewell to Professor Browning. He loved her, but couldn't take it anymore. He went to the bridge, and called Vicky, telling her he was going to jump._

_Vicky rushed frantically over to the edge. She didn't see him at first. She walked to the railing._

_"PROFESSOR BROWNING! Please, gods, don't let it be too late..."_

_"I'm right here, Vicky," Professor Browning said as he stepped from out of the shadows._

_Vicky turned towards him. "I thought you were dead..."_

_"No... but you will be."_

_At that moment, Abraham Morgan drove up in his car, and impaled Professor Browning with a sword that belonged to Genghis Khan. The professor lay in a pool of his own blood._

_"Where did you get that sword?" Vicky asked in awe._

_"I run an antiques store downtown."_

_"That's amazing! Antiques are_ so _interesting."_

_"I know, right? Just yesterday I recieved a lanyard from the 1950s. If you stop by, maybe I can show you my entire collection of lanyards."_

_"Can I go with you?"_

_"Sure. Don't mind the smell, there's a dead mime in the trunk. I have to dump him in Long Island Sound on the way."_

* * *

Henry shook his head in disbelief at his son. "Do you really dump the mimes you hit with your car off Long Island?"

"Well, to be fair, that pile of dead mimes is really the best part of Long Island."

"I guess that's true. But that story is just silly. Vicky is dead."

"Well, maybe something like it could happen in the future. Oh, wait, _some_ _body_ already took away my goddamn driver's license!" Abe said angrily.

"Abe, whoever did this planned it meticulously. Someone wanted her dead and made quite an effort to make it look accidental. This person is careful with murders, and therefore we can't waste time with fantasies. There could be another murder."

Abe sighed. "Fine, Dad. Come here, I want to show you something. I did a little research on your anonymous friend."

"Did you find out where the paper came from?"

"Yeah, but keep your expectations low. It was manufactured in Concercca Paper Mill in Milan, but the mill was destroyed during World War II. No other pieces of paper from that mill are known to exist today. The crest at the top is from the Hotel Montliogne, but I'm afraid it's been closed for the last 60 years. But don't worry, we're going to learn more about this guy."

* * *

**Flashback: Hotel Montliogne, 1945**

Henry looked over the note he had written Abigail.

_Dear Abigail,_

_I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry, but I can't be with you anymore. Over time you'll grow old, and I won't, and it will end in tears. I don't want that for us. I have to leave._

_If you still want this relationship to continue, well... last night I boiled your favorite curry recipe, then I served it to you for breakfast. I'm sure that will change your mind about wanting this._

_\- Henry_

He didn't actually boil the curry, because that would be disgusting. But, if that would make it easier on her, so be it. He walked out of the hotel room, sobbing in silent tears.

As he walked down the streets of Milan, Henry heard a familiar voice. "Henry!"

"Abigail, I'm sorry..."

"Why?"

"Because it won't work. Because it _can't_ work."

"I've read your letter. Do you love me?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. But trust me, over time, it won't end well."

"Who cares how it ends? Life is about the journey, no matter how long it lasts. I'm sorry, Doctor Morgan... I'm not letting go so fast.

"I love you too, Abigail."

"And also, Henry..."

"Yes?"

"Don't do it again," she said, pulling out a dagger and stabbing him in the jugular vein.

"I guess... I learned from that one..." Henry sputtered, coughing up blood.

"The night's not over yet, Doctor Morgan."

He disappeared, and came back in the canals of Venice.

* * *

Henry burst into the morgue, with Lucas aleady there.

"What is it? It's two in the morning...

"Murder doesn't sleep, Lucas. Well, people who murder do sleep, I'm sure, but some who work night shifts don't, so..."

"I work night shifts, Henry. Now why did you call me here?"

"Sorry. If the professor's telling the truth, and I believe he is, he broke up with her and she didn't want to let it go."

"How do you know that?"

"She was a fighter. Scuff marks on her shoes and paint chips under her fingernails suggests a struggle. So, someone else lured her onto that bridge. She was surprised. What did she fight back with?"

"Umm... she headbutted him?"

"Not the wisest choice up on a ledge."

"She stared at him menacingly."

"I don't know how that would stop him."

"She challenged him to a slap fight. Can I go now?"

Henry thought for a moment. "That's brilliant, Lucas! Of course! This looks like a fingerprint, it seems she did slap her killer! Check that against Professor Browning's DNA."

"That won't be necessary. We have another body."

Henry left with Jo, leaving Lucas slamming his head against the corpse of the deceased in frustration.

* * *

"He got released on bail a few hours ago. Students say he looked despondent, and there's a suicide note. It's pretty clear what happened here."

"I couldn't agree more. This man was murdered. Let's take a step back. What is it we see here?"

"A dead guy with a suicide note. No bruising on this arms, means no one held him down. Blood all over the floor."

"You've seen quite a few of these, I'd imagine. Is there more blood than usual?"

"Uh... maybe..."

"Do you notice the line that the blood makes leading from the deceased?"

"Well, yeah..."

"His fingers were slit as well. Now if I wanted to kill someone and make it look like a suicide, I would slit the wrists, it's just more commonplace."

"So?"

"Jo, who have we interviewed who threatened to slit our fingers?"

"Well, there was Caligula..."

"Wait, what? Oh, right, the Roman emperor. Ha ha, Jo, very funny, but we're closing a case."

"We actually met someone who was completely insane, and he called himself Caligula. And he threatened to slit our fingers if we called him Maribelle. And we're not just closing the case, we're solving it. Sorry, but I'm with Henry on this one."

"My gut tells me otherwise, Jo."

"Mike, do you think you have some sort of magic crystal ball in your lower intestine?"

"Doesn't everyone? What, do you plan to use logic and reason to solve the case, just when my lower intestine is positively tingling? Don't make me call Lieutenant Reece."

Jo stood speechless. Then, they noticed something on the security camera. A cassowary was walking into the building.

Mike's eyes widened. "It's Mrs. Browning! I bet she killed the professor!"

"Cassowaries don't have opposable thumbs, Mike..."

"I know it! My gut tells me it's true. Officers, lock up that cassowary."

"Where's Henry when you need him..." Jo looked around. There was no sign of Henry.

"What is he up to now?" Jo said to herself. As the other officers were busy reacting to Officer Hanson's gut, she stared at the security footage, looking for Henry.


	8. Caligula Is A Free Intern

Henry walked over to Professor Browning's office. He now knew who the killer was, now he just had to get a confession. As he entered, it was no surprise to him that sitting at the desk was none other than Caligula.

"My condolences for your professor's death."

Caligula spun slowly around. "Why do you apologize?" His voice sounded different, like a weight had been lifted. "Because of your investigation, Caligula is... freeee. Yes, Caligula is a free intern! Ha ha ha!" Caligula started stripping off his clothes.

"There's no need for that..."

"He made me... Master Browning made me wear clothes in his classroom. He made me wear _clothes_!" Caligula started sobbing, head buried in his hands. "Fine, yessss, Caligula killed Vicky and his old Master Browning."

Henry realized he had seen Caligula before. It was at Lucas' streaker convention a week ago. He had died, and when he had reappeared, Lucas and a multitude of nudists were roaming the streets, allowing Henry to blend in.

"Caligula, do you know someone named Lucas Wahl?"

"Ah, yes. Brother Lucas, I know of him."

"Let me call him now, and –"

"I see what you are attempting." Caligula's eyes narrowed. "You are here to attempt... pure applesauce, jiggery-pokery, I say! You are trying to lock me away, and throw away the key!" He grinned. "That's the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me."

"Um..."

In an instant, Caligula held his hunting knife to Henry's throat. "Skip and dance, Henry! Skip, and dance, with me, to the tune of Kenny Loggins! Dance with me, if you want to _live_!" Caligula turned on the radio, and 'Danger Zone' by Kenny Log-gins started playing. Henry had no choice but to dance through the halls with Caligula.

_Revvin' up your engine_

_Listen to her howlin' roar..._

"Where are the police?" Caligula asked as they danced.

"Oh, don't worry, they're on their way. It usually takes them a minute to catch up..."

"So I can just kill you right now, and then make a run for it?"

"Well, it doesn't have your usual flair."

"I'm _improvising_."

"But there are cameras there! People will see what you've done!"

"It's a little late for that. You make one move, I press this hunting knife against your carotid artery, and you'll bleed to death in an instant."

"Oh, I'm aware."

* * *

Jo had seen this all take place on the camera. She normally was not the type to shed tears, but she was now. Henry was as good as dead. She had tried to unlock the door, but Caligula had apparently set the lock up so that the code would change if someone else came in and closed the door behind him. She had tried calling Hanson, but he and his fellow officers were too busy shooting the cassowary. After seeing Caligula hold the knife up to Henry's throat, she pulled out a napkin and started writing a resignation letter.

She closed her eyes at that point. After a bit, however, she heard Kenny Loggins playing, but also two sets of footsteps dancing down the hall. She knew who they belonged to.

_Highway to the danger zone_

_I'll take you right into the danger zone!..._

"Hold it! Drop the knife _now_."

"Drop the gun, or I will slit his throat!"

_They never say hello to you_

_Until you get it on the red line overload_

_You'll never know what you can do_

_Until you get it up as high as you can go..._

Hanson rushed in. "We had to shoot the cassowary, we had no choice – what the shit! Drop the knife!"

As Hanson was saying this, Jo shot Caligula. He was no more.

_Highway to the danger zone_

_I'll take you right into the danger zoooone!_

* * *

Jo walked down the halls with Lieutenant Reece. "I told you to stay away from the jumper case, but you didn't listen. You went with your gut. That's the most valuable tool a cop can have."

Jo stopped and looked at her boss angrily. "I didn't go with my gut, Lieutenant. I went with logic. Because Hanson didn't, though, Henry almost got himself killed. I'm leaving."

"Don't give up now, Jo. You can't. You know why?"

"Why is that?"

"Errrghhh..." The lieutenant rubbed her lower intestine. "My gut... tells me... you should get a promotion."

"Okay..."

"And... errrghhh... also a raise."

"Wow! Lower intestines are awesome!" Jo smiled. "And I also have another pretty useful tool."

Lieutenant Reece nodded. "A medical examiner with a sixth sense about death. Yeah, well, if you keep closing those cases, he's all yours. Now, my gut is telling me to eat... beans. Yes... beans and lentils... with some stewed lamb..." she said, walking away.

* * *

Back in Henry's basement dungeon, Henry looked wistfully at an old photo of Abigail. "I miss her too, you know," Abe said.

"She'd be 94 this year. You know, it's possible that –"

"She's gone. You're never going to see her again. I made my peace with that a long time ago, so now you need to do the same."

"Yes, of course. It's just... I knew she'd be gone someday, I just thought we could be a proper family for a while."

"We were. But who the hell needs that? Come on. You know what the Chinese say? May you live in interesting times. Now you show me anyone who's had a more interesting time than we have."

"I suppose that's true."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have a souffle going upstairs."

"Raspberry?"

"Yes."

"What else?"

"Canadian bacon and pineapple."

Henry looked at his son, disappointment and regret filling his eyes. "I'm kidding, Henry. It's raspberry, peach and balsamic."

"Oh, thank the gods."

The phone rang. "I'll get it," Henry said, getting up.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hello, Henry..."

"Who is this?"

"I'm you're friend. As for my name... I've had a few."

"Look, I don't like playing games. How did you find out about the Hotel Montliogne?"

"It wasn't hard. Hotel registry, yearbook pictures, looking inside your bathroom windows, Abe's Facebook profile..."

"Forget I asked. What do you want with me?"

"Well, forgive me for being intrigued. But I couldn't understand something. Why do you still care?"

"Care about what?"

"Everything. But then I figured it out. You're still young, Henry. The first 200 years are easy."

"So how long have you been alive?"

"More like 2000 years. If you want to call me something... call me Adam. I've been here right from the beginning."

The mysterious caller mumbled something so Henry couldn't hear. "I really have been here from the beginning, Reader. This fanfiction you're reading, this mess of a parody... it's a parody of itself by now, just utter trash. I don't know why you waste your time with it."

"I think you and I should meet," said Henry.

"Oh, we will. No reason to rush this relationship. We've got all the time in the world..."


End file.
